


idfc

by honeyyhowell (thumbsforammo)



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Actor Dan Howell, Actor Phil Lester, Angst, I'm Sorry, Inspired by Music, M/M, Pining, Psychological Trauma, Romance, Songfic, but there's still some fluff, idfc by blackbear, lying, they star in a romance, things are rough, why does everyone apologize so much
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-16
Updated: 2018-09-12
Packaged: 2019-06-11 05:47:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15308778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thumbsforammo/pseuds/honeyyhowell
Summary: i act like i don't fucking carecause i'm so fucking scaredPhil lies more than he should and Dan makes poor choices.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hello! this whole story is a work in progress and i have no idea what i'm doing. i don't have an update schedule for this because every time i've tried to have one i've failed miserably at keeping up with it. that being said, updates will be random and range in frequencies depending on my mental state and how busy my life is! also an important note: the trigger warnings and tags will change as this story progresses so keep an eye on those. i will also add trigger warnings at the beginning of chapters. now that that's out of the way, i hope you enjoy this chapter and the story as a whole!

He was like the fucking stars. He filled my life with moonlight and meaning. And now he's gone.

It's for the best though, at least that's what I've been telling myself for the past three days.

_He was a fucking liar. He lied to your face every time he said he loved you. He lied about where he was at night. He lied about who he was._

No matter how many times I repeat this in my head, in my journal, hell sometimes out loud when I'm alone in this damn flat, I can't seem to believe it. Even though he was the one who confessed to the lies. Even though everyone warned me about him before the idea of dating had even crossed our minds. Before I had the nerve to believe he was my soulmate.

I feel selfish for wanting things from him he could never give me. Even if it was something as simple as real love or the fucking truth every now and then, I should've known he wouldn't be able to provide. I feel selfish for knowing his words were stained with dishonesty but still allowing him to toy with my feelings. With his stupid ocean eyes and quirky smile he took my heart and ran with it. I don't think I'll ever get it back, even now that he's left me for good.

He's still got one more suitcase to pick up from the flat. I still have to see him one more time before I spend my whole life trying to forget him. I swirl the ice cubes around in my near-empty glass as I wait for the door to open and for the traitor to show his face again. I've stolen his favorite sweatshirt and I've been wearing it since he first started packing two days ago. I can't tell if this is just me being petty or me already missing him so terribly that I can't yet imagine my life without at least a small piece of him. I hope it's the former. He always told me I was strong, it's time I fucking proved it for once in my life.

My nerves are still feeling numb after my second beer. I've capped myself at two. I can't afford to get even mildly drunk right now. If I do I'll end up falling into his trap all over again just like I did eight years ago.

The doorknob turns and there he is, standing in the doorway and looking around like he still owns the place. I take the last swig of beer from my glass, tipping my head back to get every drop. The ice hits my nose, cold and rough. I wipe my mouth as he picks up his last suitcase. It's navy blue, just like the front door. He wanted to color match everything he could when we first moved into this flat together. Now the vase of bright yellow lemons that were placed on the dining table and three paintings of the dark blue sky that once hung above the sofa are either collecting dust in boxes or smashed to bits in the trash. If the paintings weren't one of a kind, they'd be ripped to shreds by now.

"Are you sure you don't want to take anything else?" I ask, leaning back in my barstool and propping my feet up on the counter.

I don't want him here any longer than he has to be, but I also want to get rid of as many of his decorations that I can. And the memories that go along with them.

He looks around the lounge and kitchen. Sharp eyes scanning every wall and surface. He's probably remembering all the good times we've shared here. I'm sure he's forgotten about all the fights we've had here too.

"What happened to the lemons and the vase?"

I nudge the trash can with my foot. He scowls.

"You're a bitch."

"I learned from the best."

The alcohol coursing through my veins is enough to make me feisty and confident. He should know not to pick a fight with me right now because he's the one who first categorized the type of person I become depending on how many drinks I've had. We first discovered that drink-two-Dan is overly confident after I punched a guy at a bar for flirting with Phil. Granted, Phil had made no attempt to stop him, but I was overly protective and felt the need to stake my claim. He was my first boyfriend after all.

At this moment I wouldn't be surprised if drink-six-Dan turned into a fucking murderer.

I feel a sudden surge of anger when Phil reaches for my bonsai tree.

"You wasted eight fucking years of my life and yet you're the one calling _me_ a bitch," I say, my throat tight. He pauses, slender fingers touching the white pot but making no move to pick it up.

"You could have left at any time, Dan. It's not like I was holding you hostage."

"But you were the one who lied to me every fucking day!" I'm on my feet now, my glass laying forgotten on the counter, the ice spilling onto the marble.

"And you believed them! I know you knew I was lying. And yet you stayed. Don't blame me for your own stupidity."

If I didn't have a reputation to uphold I would've punched him in the nose right then and there. But that would ruin my career. Even if we hid it, people would find out sooner or later. Phil picks up the bonsai and throws it into the trash. I hear it shatter when it hits the bottom of the bin.

"That's for the lemons." He picks up his suitcase and leaves without another word. The only sound in the entire apartment building is the echo of the slammed door. Even the neighbor's dog has stopped barking for the first time since we moved in.

My cheeks are covered in warm tears before I can even think. I hold a shaking hand to my mouth, a habit I picked up since I first started feeling the need to cry quietly when Phil was still in the house. This time, however, he's gone and I let that realization wash over me as I allow the sobs to escape me at full volume. No longer will I suffer in silence. The whole damn city will hear me if I feel like it.

I can feel my face getting red as I run out of breath. No one has seen me like this in three years. I've kept this stupid fucking mask on at every convention, every day at work, and around every single person I know. Phil and I were a brand and I wasn't going to allow that to be tarnished by my stupid emotions. We had people counting on us, rooting for us. I believed the fans when they said Phil and I were meant to be. Even though they didn't know even a sliver of the full story, their words rang true in my ears. Every morning I read their tweets and let them convince me that everything would work itself out. After all, the universe has funny ways of making things work out in the end.

I wipe my eyes with Phil's sweatshirt, already sick of crying. It's ugly and gross and unnecessary. I've somehow made it to the ground, my legs crumpled beneath me. I take a deep breath. The sweatshirt still smells like him, of course. Like I expected but wanted so badly to be untrue, his smell makes me relax. I pull the sweatshirt off and throw it across the room. My arms feel cold without its comforting warmth. So does my heart now that he's finally gone.

If I forget about the lies for a moment, I remember the good things that happened when Phil was in the flat. The giggles that would erupt from the lounge. The socks that would always appear on every surface, each one missing their pair. Now I feel like one of those forgotten socks, missing my other half. Phil had been glued to my side for so long I've forgotten how to live alone, work alone, or even think alone. Even before the worst happened, when Phil would just storm out instead of leave for good, I found myself ordering food for two when it was just me. I still remember his favorite orders from every takeout place. I don't think that's something that's going to leave my head. It's been ingrained too deeply to ever be forgotten.

My fingers curl into the white carpet. I want to stand but I don't think my legs will support my weight. No matter how much I wanted Phil gone, some part of me is inevitably missing him. This part of me is going to make this whole situation so much more difficult than it has to be. I think it's the same part that can't bear to give him back his sweatshirt. Damn that part of me. I resist the urge to grab another drink. Three-drink-Dan listens to his heart more than his head and the only thing my heart is telling me to do right now is chase after Phil and kiss him like never before. It makes me want to rip this stupid organ right out of my chest. It gives me foolish hope and nothing else.

I should be numb to hopefulness. I wish I was. It seems wrong to be wishing that someone had fucked me up badly enough that I lost all hope for anything, but it's all I can think will fix this. If that was the case I wouldn't have this shameful hope that Phil was going to come barging through the door and sweep me into a tender hug, apologizing for how he as undoubtably wronged me over the years. My mind is built to torment me with these futile desires. It always has and it always will.

My very first relationship ended when I was seventeen because she cheated on me with the football coach. I think I dodged bullet with that one but that doesn't mean it didn't hurt like I had actually been shot in the chest. I had thought that that pain was going to be the worst pain I'd ever experience. I wish I had been right; this pain is so, so much worse. At least that time I didn't have the pressure of fame on my shoulders like I do now. I never want to disappoint the fans and now I have to tell them Phil and I actually hate each other? For all I know they'll stop watching our show and we'll lose the next two seasons we already have green-lit.

My heart drops when I remember that I'll have to see Phil again when we start filming next week. I had convinced myself that I would never see him again and in turn had completely forgotten we costar in a fucking romance television series.

\- - -

The taxi to the set is comfortably silent. My driver is not the talkative type and has a broken radio. I managed to memorize the script for the next episode a few days ago, but I only managed to make it through the sappy romantic scenes by imagining I was talking to anyone but Phil.

I don't have high hopes for today's shoot. It's the first time I'll have seen or talked to Phil since he left the flat for the last time. We've made sure none of our coworkers or bosses know about our breakup for fear that they'll cancel the show. When Phil and I first started dating, the producer, a lovely woman named Bailey, had made us promise that this wasn't just a fling. At the time we had signed the contract without a second thought. That was when we thought we were soulmates. It's crazy how fast things can change. This time last year we were hopelessly in love with wonderful visions of our future together. Now I sit alone in a cavernous home and Phil sleeps with another man.

I tip the taxi driver extra when we arrive at the set. At first I don't see Phil anywhere. He's not by the snack table like usual. After a moment I spot him sitting in one of the folding chairs behind the camera. He's talking to Bailey and laughing at something she said. My head throbs a little when I see him.

He catches my eye and smiles. I smile back when Bailey turns around. Both of our smiles are strained and I hope Bailey doesn't notice. She waves me over. I stand behind Phil, hands in the back of his chair.

"How are you two lovebirds?" she asks. I shift uncomfortably.

_Dammit, Dan, you're an actor. You can do better than this._

"We're great!" I chirp. I give a friendly nod to one of the interns when he hands me an iced coffee.

"I have to ask, why did you two arrive separately?" Bailey sips her own hot coffee. Even in this summer heat she still prefers hot beverages.

"Oh," Phil chuckles, "I woke up way before Dan and decided to come down to practice my lines on set instead of at our dining table. I didn't want to wake this guy up to come with me, he looked so peaceful."

 _Our_ dining table. That phrasing makes my throat tight. Phil reaches up and cups my cheek with his hand. My ears burn. His fingers are cold.

Phil preferring to go over lines on set isn't unusual, but him doing it without me is. Even if he woke up at 3 AM I was dragged with him to set. I didn't care though. It gave me another chance to watch him act and be the fanboy I am at heart.

A crew member approaches Bailey and hands her a stack of papers, exchanging a few hushed words with her. Bailey tucks her strawberry hair behind her ears. Her eyes look so much more tired when she reads the words on the paper. After she signs a few of the pages, she looks back up at us.

"I'm sorry, one of the set designers needs a word with me," she says, groaning, "We'll have to catch up later." She winks as she walks away, towards a flustered looking man with his eyes glued to his phone.

Phil rubs his temples, eyes screwed shut. "That was hell. Are we going to have to do that for much longer?"

"We're going to do it until you're comfortable with breaking our promise to Bailey," I mutter.

"I think she's going to find out herself before I'm comfortable with that." He pauses. "How are you feeling about the scenes we're doing today? It's going to be weird."

Does Phil care about how I feel or is he just making conversation? I can't tell. I used to be so good at reading him but now I feel completely lost. "It will be. But we're actors, it's our job to pretend. It'll be easy."

"I'm not going to lie, Dan, I liked coming to work a lot more when we weren't fighting."

Phil and I are past fighting. We're at the stage of stoney silences and forced polite conversations. "Yeah. Me too."

His mouth forms into a tight line. "See you on set." He moves to put his hand on my shoulder but hesitates. He thinks better of it and instead puts his hands in his pockets and walks away without another word.

I let out the breath I was holding. I really need to get over him already.


	2. Chapter 2

The set lights feel harsher than usual. I shield my eyes with my hand while I wait for the crew to finish setting up. Phil stands opposite me, silently mouthing the script, his eyes closed. He looks so focused with his brow knitted together.

Today's set is a simple lounge. There's minimal furniture, just a couple white sofas, some end tables, a blue rug, and some paintings on the wall. Since this particular room is my character's home, the set designers allowed me to contribute my own ideas for it and we ended up with a tastefully modern look.

After a few minutes, Bailey sits down in her chair behind the camera and the director, Austin, starts the take.

Phil's eyes snap open. His face settles. Now when I look at him I don't see Phil Lester, I see Matthew Meryl, a plumber from London who has yet to accept his sexuality.

I can only hope that he doesn't see Dan Howell and only sees Jeremy Warrington, a struggling author who pines over the plumber his wife called for their leaky faucet.

"Jeremy," Phil murmurs, voice silky smooth. "I don't think I can love you like I want to. But that doesn't mean I won't try."

He touches my wrist with his fingertips, just barely. I feel electrified beneath my skin.

I open my mouth but nothing comes out. I rarely blank on my lines but my heart is doing somersaults and it's fatally distracting.

"Cut!" There's a commotion behind the camera but Phil keeps his eyes focused on me. 

"You okay?" he asks. His fingers move from my wrists to my hands. His mouth twitches into a slight frown. He's still acting. I wish my heart knew that like my head does. Maybe it would settle long enough for me to finish this scene.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Totally fine. Just spaced out for a minute there." I pull my hands away and wipe them on my jeans.

"Dan!" Bailey shouts from her chair, "Are you going to say your lines this time?"

I nod stiffly and everyone settles back down. We go through the scene two more times. I don't flounder once, even when I feel a lump in my throat as Phil leaves through the fake front door. It feels too much like when he left through our very real front door a few days prior.

 

\- - -

 

I'm trying to decide between banana bread or a poppy seed muffin at the snack table when Austin approaches me.

"What happened back there?" he asks, snatching a pumpkin cookie from the table.

I choose the muffin. "Couldn't tell you. I just spaced out I guess."

He breaks a chunk off of his cookie and tosses it into his mouth. "Do you need someone to help you practice your lines?"

I glance over at him. He has the faintest smirk settled on his lips. This man is flirting with me. Normally I'd be flattered but, as far as I know, he has no idea Phil and I broke up. He's flirting with a presumably taken man. I don't know if I should take it as a compliment, the fact that this director is risking his job just for the chance to date me. Or maybe he just wants to fuck me and then act like nothing happened. Either way, he could easily be fired.

I smile back. I don't know why I do it. I'm not going to date Austin. Maybe I've grown too accustomed to being toyed with and I finally want to be on the other end of this pitiful act.

"Maybe I do." This is all I can manage before Phil is standing next to me. His fingers graze mine but he doesn't grab my hand. He's going to have to be more convincing than that. I intertwine our fingers. Austin eyes our connected hands but he still has that fucking glint in his eyes while he does it. He's going to be harder to shake off than I originally thought.

Phil gives a polite nod to Austin and pulls me away from the snack table. As soon as we're in my dressing room and out of sight, I release his hand. He rubs it, cracking his knuckles.

"Jesus, could you have squeezed any tighter?" he grumbles.

I ignore him. "Austin was flirting with me."

"I know. That's why I came over." He doesn't seem bothered. He shouldn't be, but it still stings a little.

"Did you tell him we broke up?"

"What? No!" Phil snaps.

"Shouldn't we be worried about it then?"

"Why?"

I sigh and pinch the bridge of my nose. "Never mind, it doesn't matter. You can't be mad if I do something with him though."

"Are you going to do something with him?"

"That's not the point."

"You're right, like usual."

"What's that supposed to mean?" My voice raises and I force it back down.

"You always—" Phil is cut off by a knock at the door. He groans.

"Yes?" I address the door. It opens to reveal one of the writing interns. She startles when she sees Phil next with me.

"Oh! I-I'm sorry I didn't mean to interrupt," she puts her hands up. She looks genuinely scared.

"It's fine, you weren't interrupting anything," I say, "What do you need?"

She hesitates before pulling out a couple papers from her bag. "Bailey wanted you to go over this and give your insight. She wanted Mr. Lester's opinion too."

I take the papers from her. "Thank you—" I pause.

"Candace."

"—Candace."

She remains standing in the doorway, staring at us.

"Do you need anything else?" Phil asks. He's impatient with her already.

"N-no!" She backs up and closes the door.

Phil turns to me. "You do realize she thinks we were about to fuck, right?"

"I'm painfully aware." I look at the papers. It's a few pages of the script from some future episodes. Phil and I skim through them until we both come to a grinding halt.

"'Full frontal nudity'," Phil reads from the script. "Are you okay with that Dan?"

I think for a moment. This wouldn't be the first time I've exposed myself like this in front of a camera. Sure the times I've done it before were nowhere near ideal and in much less professional settings, but the general idea is the same, right?

"I'm okay with it."

Phil looks surprised. "I guess I'll let Bailey know we agree with this script."

After Phil leaves I look over the script again. The scene with the nudity isn't anything too wild; Phil's character walks in on mine while he's changing. It's a simple scene, we could probably get it done in fifteen minutes, if that. Easy.


End file.
